


The Mark Upon My Heart

by itsevanffs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Denial of Feelings, Dorks in Love, Feels, Fluff, Friendship, Idiots in Love, M/M, Time Travel, Tom Riddle is a Sweetheart, Trauma, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25485007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsevanffs/pseuds/itsevanffs
Summary: Is surely of your making.Harry Potter travels back in time in order to kill Tom Riddle, and you've heard all this before.But it goes differently.(Oh, does it go differently.)
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 78
Kudos: 152
Collections: Harry Potter





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snowy_Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy_Rain/gifts).



> Hmm, you might die. Who knows. It's all a mystery.
> 
> (Being livewritten on my discord server, see endnotes for invite link)

Harry had an acute realisation as to where he was. _It had_ _worked_. He let out a breath in relief. Hogwarts stood tall and proud against the darkening sky, and the Time-Turner lay shattered on the floor in front of him, clearly unusable. _There would be no loop, this time_ , Harry thought smugly. He'd get it done, and then he'd go back.

He staggered upright and stabilised himself against a nearby tree. He was still shaking with terror, the fear of it all going wrong still coursing through his body like millions of tiny lightning bolts, setting his nerves on fire. He let it leach out and into the night air, slowly. Then he started walking.

Hogwarts was as beautiful in the 1940's as it was in 1996. The Black Lake reflected the fading sun beautifully, throwing shimmering reflections against the stark towers of the castle. Hogsmeade glittered in the distance. The Forbidden Forest stood to his right, silent as could be. He was the anomaly, here, in his Muggle clothes, with his messy, overgrown hair, and his dirtied face. He'd spent weeks researching, all for this.

And he didn't even have a backstory.

What could he say? Harry thought miserably, even as his feet led him towards the towering figure of his only home. He could hardly announce he was a time-traveler, here to kill one Tom Marvolo Riddle to avoid hundreds of needless deaths, including the ones of his very own parents, could he? He'd have to make up something. Vague, yet believable. He racked his brain as he halted near the grounds.

Grindelwald was still running rampant across Europe, Harry knew. He'd read the books that outlined this time in history. _Chased by a Dark Lord_... that would work. _But why_? Harry thought about it. The Deathly Hallows, he reasoned. His father's Invisibility cloak... But his grandparents still had that, hadn't they? Would he even pose as a Potter? He scrapped the entire plan. Rats.

Muggleborn, he decided. He'd go as a Muggleborn, and call himself... Harry Smith, or something. He struggled to think of a name he could easily identify with. Evans, he thought, but then dismissed it. No, he wasn't too familiar with... He nearly slapped himself for his idiocy. How many Muggles were called Potter? A whole bloody lot. He could just go as himself.

Grindelwald wouldn't hunt a Muggleborn, Harry thought to himself. So... the religious fanatics were rather widespread, weren't they? He could say he'd been outcast from his home because he'd discovered he had magic, and his parents hated him for it.

The thought made him ill, but it was as close to the truth as he could get.

He stepped forward, pushing through the invisible ward line, and up toward the castle. A few hundred metres in, the large oak doors opened and a few figures slipped out. He forced himself to look miserable, clenching his hands uselessly.

"Who goes there?" an authoritative, unfamiliar voice boomed across the grounds. "Show yourself!"

Harry held up his hands placatingly, realising he didn't have his wand on him. His chest twinged, but at the same time, he realised it was probably for the better. What Muggleborn would have a wand when they just discovered they had magic, after all?"

"Please," he croaked, not needing to fake the dryness of his throat, "Don't hurt me."

"Who are you?" the wizard asked firmly, wand trained on him.

"My name is Harry Potter," Harry said, swallowing heavily. "Where am I? I don't remember how I came here."

The wizard stepped closer, and the two others followed closely behind. Harry cringed back slightly at the near unified movement. " _Expelliamus_ ," the man stated, a flash of red shooting toward harry, but nothing happened- not even an impact. Harry tensed at the light, though, mind flashing back to many of the duels. He scrambled back, and thought frantically of an appropriate response.

"What are those things!?" he cried after a moment. "Get them away, you'll hurt someone! Who in their right mind shoots _fire_ at a person? How did you even do that!?"

"His clothes are Muggle, Armando," a female voice said. "Perhaps he's harmless. He doesn't have a wand, either."

"No harm in being careful," the wizard, Armando, said. "Harry Potter, you say?"

Harry nodded hastily. "Yes," he affirmed. "That's my name." He was still tense, partly because he's supposed to be, and partly because he didn't know what these people could do to him. They came out of Hogwarts, so they must have been Light, which means his allies, but he didn't know who they are. "Who are you?"

The wizard at the front introduces himself. "I am Armando Dippet," he said, and Harry forced his eyes not to widen. The previous headmaster of Hogwarts, he remembered. "This," he gestured behind him to a woman in a dark purple cloak, "is Galatea Merrythought." He then gestured to his other companion. "And that is Cuthbert Binns."

"Pleasure," Harry said carefully, letting his shoulders relax. "I... I would go, but I'm completely lost. May I ask where I am?"

"Why," Dippet replied, "At Hogwarts, of course."

"I don't know of any place called Hogwarts," Harry pointed out.

"Ah. Well, the closest village is Hogsmeade- I'm afraid everything else is rather far from there."

"Where are we, then?" Harry asked, impatiently. It appeared Dippet was as much one to dance around the subject at hand as Dumbledore was. "Yorkshire Moors?"

Dippet looked parts amused and concerned. "No, dear boy, we're in Scotland."

Harry let himself fall silent, his eyes wide. " _What_?" he asked, pushing an edge of panic into his voice. "How did I get into Scotland? I've never been outside London in my life!"

"Ah, bollocks," Merrythought cursed under her breath behind Dippet. Harry blinked at her.

"Why are you all dressed so funny?" he asked. "It isn't Hallow's Eve, is it?"

"Drat," Merrythought cursed again. "Dippet, I believe we may have caught a stray Muggleborn."

"What's a Muggleborn?" Harry asked, frowning as if annoyed. "And I don't remember ever being such."

Dippet ignored him. "He says he's never been out of London- but why isn't he on the list, then?" He turned back to Harry. "Say, young man, have you ever done things you couldn't explain?"

Harry pursed his lips. "What do you mean, things I couldn't explain?"

"Why, such as magic," Dippet said jovially. Harry forced himself to cringe back.

"Magic?" He asked fearfully. "Why in the Lord's name would anyone want to practice such Devilish acts? I would-" he cut himself off and swallowed. "I'm... I... Sometimes, yes. My... my parents, they..." He shook his head forcefully. "I shouldn't even be talking about things like this- who knows what would happen."

"Oh dear," Merrythought sighed, and stepped forward. "Mr Potter," she said. "We are wizards - well, I, in fact, am a witch - and by the looks of it, you are too. Either way, I think we'll bring you inside for a patchup- you look quite shaken."

Harry wanted to resist, but a tiredness was creeping into his bones that begged him to go along with it. "I would love that," he admitted, shoulders drooping. "I haven't eaten well in weeks."

Dippet shot him another concerned look. "Very well," he said, "If you'd follow us." And then they turned in tandem and moved back up to the doors, and Harry forced his legs into movement, and followed them.

The nurse was unfamiliar- not the kind, round face of Madam Pomfrey. She smiled at Dippet, then glanced at him, eyes widening. Harry tried to smile at her reassuringly, but she was having none of it.

"My goodness!" She cried, coming over. "You, good sir, are much too skinny for your own good. Have you eaten at all?"

She waved her wand, and the dirt was pulled from his skin, leaving a tingling sensation. Harry shuddered at the feeling and watched her curiously. Before he could say anything, she'd waved her wand again, and a long list of parchment appeared in front of her.

"Merlin's balls," Merrythought cursed behind him, and he whipped his head round to stare at her with wide eyes. Did a teacher -he assumed she was, her name sounded familiar- really curse this much?

"Mr..." the nurse began.

"Potter," Dippet supplied. "Harry Potter."

"Mr Potter," the witch repeated, "this list is rather worrying."

Harry didn't have to fake his confusion this time. "What do you mean?"

"I won't list them aloud, Mr Potter," she said, "because of confidentiality, but there are a lot of longstanding, untreated conditions on here."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, not willing to say anything. What if the basilisk fang had showed up? That'd be rather unexplainable.

The witch sighed. "Armando, Cuthbert, Galatea, if you could please leave the room so I can discuss these with my patient?"

The three did so, and Harry flushed slightly. This hadn't been his intention!

"Madam," he asked slowly, "may I ask what..?"

Without blinking, she thrust the piece of parchment at him, and he turned it to look at it properly. Rats, he thought. Those were a lot of lines. Most of them consisted of untreated concussions in some shape or other, but there was a lot of damage to his legs, as well. Malnourishment, too. "Rats," he repeated, out loud. Nerve damage was somewhere in there, poison too, when he skimmed over it.

Shakily, he handed the list back over to the nurse, staying silent.

"I'm keeping you here while I tend to your malnourishment and try to fix as much of the damage as I can, is that alright?" She asked seriously. Harry nodded absently, eyes still wide. "I'm going to put you under now, so I can fix the worst of it without pain, is that okay?" Harry nodded again, and she guided him to a bed, made him lie down, and cast a _somnus_.

* * *

When Harry awoke, there was a feeling of relief he had not noticed he needed before. A phantom pain lingered in his fingers, but it was a cold pain, more unpleasant than anything. He felt pent-up, as if he needed to walk, and when he moved his fingers experimentally, he felt there was nothing weighing them down. Harry blinked at the ceiling. There was a lone spider in the corner, and he could see it better than he remembered. He raised a hand to his face, but his glasses weren't there. He sat up quickly, gasping in a breath.

"You're awake," a voice said, clearer than ever before. He looked over, and came face to face with Tom Riddle, who was seated on the end of an empty bed. "The nurse is out on errands, so they stationed me here in case you woke up. I'm Tom Riddle," he said, gesturing loosely toward himself. "I'm Head Boy here at Hogwarts."

Immediately, Harry felt on edge. He forced himself to calm down, before he realised he wasn't wearing a shirt - or trousers, for that matter - and moved to cover himself with the sheets hastily. His eyes lingered on the junction of his thumb and forefinger, brow furrowing in confusion at the words that were not there. He traced over the area with his other hand, finding the skin smooth. "How..?" he asked quietly.

"They informed me you were not aware of magic," Riddle said calmly. "The nurse healed you while you were unconscious. It took quite some time, too. Today's date is the seventeenth of October, nineteen-forty-four," he continued, stating what Harry was about to ask. "It's currently six-thirty in the afternoon. Dinner will start in half an hour, but I've been told the elves will bring something up here for you. It's suggested that you don't strain yourself too much," he said pointedly, obviously referring to when Harry had moved earlier.

Harry flushed indignantly. "Where are my clothes?" he asked coldly.

"Madam Gentlewillow felt they weren't fit to function as rags, let alone clothes, so she discarded them. There are robes, though, on your nightstand. If you need any help putting them on, simply ask." Harry blushed furiously. _As if_ , he grumbled mentally.

He looked toward the side of the bed and spotted the robes, pulling them toward him. He held them in his hands, looking toward Riddle. Riddle inclined his head and stood, walking to behind one of the privacy screens. Harry stilled at the unusual gesture.

"Tell me when you're done," Riddle offered from behind the screen. Harry touched his ear absently, irked at how everything sounded louder than normal, before shrugging it off and putting on the robes hastily. They were a bit too large for him, but they fit better than Dudley's hand-me-downs. Harry pursed his lips, then decided to softly announce that he was done. Riddle moved back into view, and put a small, placating smile on his face.

"I'll go tell someone you're awake," he said. "I'm sure Madam Gentlewillow'll be pleased to hear it. Please don't leave this room, if you will, Mr Potter- it's for your own safety, and for others. I'll be back in just a moment."

Then he left, closing the door with a soft _click_ behind him, and Harry stood, alone, in the hospital wing. He stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do, then sat back down on the bed, indeed feeling that his legs were rather tired. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and Gentlewillow came in, followed closely by Riddle. The contrast between them was near amusing- Riddle's towering height compared to the nurse's short stature, but he still followed her like an obedient dog, nodding pleasantly at what she was saying.

"Mr Potter!" the nurse said, approaching him. "Truly, thank you for your help, Mr Riddle, it's much appreciated. I'm afraid you'll have to leave now, though- I need to discuss some things with him that are only for his ears, you see." Riddle, to Harry's surprise, nodded calmly.

"Of course, and any time, Madam."

Then he was gone once more, and Harry looked, confused, at the doors through which the boy had stepped, wondering why he was so... _kind_. It must be an act, he decided, and turned his attention to the nurse.

"Now, Mr Potter, you might have noticed some differences already- I'll give you a brief summary of what I fixed. You might have noticed your eyesight has vastly improved," she began, and Harry nodded, "as well as a lack of pain in areas there were before." At this, Harry only tilted his head, confused.

"I wasn't in any pain when I arrived here, Madam, he said politely. "I do feel rather cold, though. And everything's quite loud. Is that a- is that normal?" he forced himself to ask, narrowly stopping himself from asking if that was a potion's side effect. Gentlewillow pursed her lips.

"I see," she said. "That must only mean you've had the pain for so long you no longer realised it was there. As for your hearing... well, due to the frequent concussions, as you may have noted from the list, your right ear was almost completely deaf, and your left half-deaf. They have both been restored to almost full function, and that is what you're noticing."

Harry looked at her, shocked. How come he never noticed he'd started to go deaf? "Thank you," he thanked her sincerely, and she smiled, but it was strained. "Is there... anything else?"

"Your left shin had multiple splinters indicative of being struck by a hard object-" Harry cringed as he remembered Dudley's smelting stick, and the many, many bruises he'd had littered over his legs over the years, especially after some rounds of Harry Hunting, "-and your right shin had a small fracture that didn't heal quite right. We found the beginnings of skin cancer, presumably from frequent skin damage from the sun, and removed it. As well as this, many small damages to your brain and central nervous system were healed, so you should regain feeling in your right pinkie finger this week.

"Some old tears because of extreme growth spurts were also healed, considering your bones grew too fast for your muscles and tendons to keep up in your malnourished state, and, about that, I'm putting you on a strict potion regimen for the next few months to correct those issues. I'm afraid you will be shorter than average for the rest of your life, but not drastically so, so it shouldn't affect you that much."

Harry was speechless. All this had happened to him? But no, there was more.

"Traces of poison from your bloodstream were also removed, and the anti poisons your body had begun producing were removed too to keep the balance in your blood. However, your body is still producing them currently, although it should stop soon. Nevertheless, should you experience any dizzy spells, please come straight to me so I can analyse your state. The anti poisons alone could still do harm to your body."

Then she fell silent, and Harry waited for a moment. "Is that it?" he asked, tensed in anticipation of it not being so. He relaxed when she nodded. "Thank the Lord," he said. "I thought you were going to tell me at the end that I only had a year more to live, or something."

She flashed him a pained smile. "At the state you were in, I'm afraid you would have, indeed, suffered a premature death- especially if the cancer had been left untreated; it would have grown and spread, and, at best, you would have lived maybe twelve more years before giving into it."

Tears sprung to Harry's eyes, and he fought them back, confused as to why the news upset him so. It had been fixed, hadn't it? Why did he feel so horrible? "Sorry," he croaked, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. "I don't know why..." he trailed off as the tears increased. "I... I don't know."

She sighed, and sat next to him, patting his shoulder. "I can understand the news must be awfully distressing. Truthfully, I'm glad you stumbled upon Hogwarts when you did- at least now, you have the chance to live a normal life."

Harry let out a sob. She had no idea how wrong she was.

No idea at all.

Harry didn't recognise his reflection, at first.

He was standing in the dorm room, having been Sorted during dinner - into Slytherin, he panicked absently - after Dippet had come in and decided since most of the damage had been healed, it would be better for Harry to integrate into Hogwarts, where he would be staying for the foreseeable future. They had asked for his age and birthday, and he'd stammered out the answer. They'd put him in seventh year, which he would be in had he not gone horcrux hunting, and that was that. The issue of classes was another matter, but they'd figure it out- Harry had a week to get himself acquainted with the school before any formal decisions on classes were made. For now, however the issue was that he looked completely different.

The mirror on the wall showed a lean boy with messy hair and green eyes- and that was as far as he could recognise himself. His hair was fuller, and his skin less deathly pale. He looked more well-rested than he had in years, and his skin no longer hung off his bones, so to speak. He was slightly taller, too, he believed.

His face had filled out, and Harry was irked to see he almost looked younger than he was. His hair had also grown out quite a bit. He fussed with it, dutifully ignoring the Slytherin green of his robes. The door opened behind, and he froze, hand still in his hair.

"Oh," said an unfamiliar voice. Harry turned around, noticing, firstly, the pale blonde hair of the person, then his face. He looked like Draco Malfoy, but with sharper edges. Lucius Malfoy, but then less sickly. "You're the new person, aren't you?" The boy asked, wandering over to the bed on the other side of the room to Harry's and sitting down on it less elegantly than Malfoys usually did. Harry, flabbergasted, nodded.

"I am," he said. "My name's Harry Potter."

"Potter?" the other boy said, perking. "Any relation to Fleamont Potter, by any chance?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know anyone in my family called Fleamont."

The boy leaned back, raising his chin. He looked disinterested once more. "Ah, a Mudblood then, aren't you?" Harry was about to get angry, before the boy continued. "Oh well. My name's Malfoy. Abraxas Malfoy." He nodded at Harry, but made no move to extend a hand like his... grandson? Had done in Harry's first year. Harry nodded back shakily.

"What does Mudblood mean?" he asked casually, trying to see if he could throw Malfoy off.

"Oh," said Malfoy, "nothing important." He waved a hand."

"Come on, tell me," Harry insisted, "I'm curious.

"It's just another name for wizards or witches who aren't born from magical parents," Malfoy said dismissively. Harry pursed his lips.

He felt rather offended by the lie Malfoy had told him on the first day of meeting him, but he supposed it wouldn't do to explain a slur to someone you just called that slur. Harry sighed and returned his attention to the mirror.

About half an hour later, two other boys came into the dorm.

"Malfoy," they both greeted politely.

"Avery," Malfoy replied, "Rosier."

Harry turned to them, eyeing the two new boys suspiciously. "Hello," he said. "My name's Harry Potter. What are yours?"

"Not related to Fleamont Potter," Malfoy piped in rudely from the sidelines, and Harry narrowed his eyes at him before focusing back on the two boys, one of whom had to be Avery, and the other Rosier.

"I'm Evan Rosier," the boy on the left said calmly, also seemingly ignoring Malfoy. The boy on the right smirked at Malfoy, who smirked back.

"And my name," the boy on the right said dramatically, "is Jonathan Avery, at your service." He bowed deeply. Harry immediately disliked him.

"Pleasure to meet you both," he said, crossing his arms. "Do you know the time?"

Rosier pulled out his wand and flicked it. "Eight-thirty."

"Right," Harry said. "Thank you. I'm going to bed."

Harry moved to his bed, which a house elf had shown him earlier - it hadn't been hard to look disturbed at the sight - and started disrobing, ignoring the whispers on the other side of the room. Who knew the first generation of Death Eaters had been as bad as Lavender Brown?

He folded his robes neatly and put them at the foot end of his bed, then crawled under the covers and shut the curtains with a passion. Harry grumbled inwardly as the noise continued. He wanted his wand back.

He lay awake for a long time, tossing and turning before finally slipping into sleep.

He dreamed, then.

He was floating in dark water, the pressure of the water pressing in on all sides. Yet... it felt comfortable. The weight of it was comforting, and Harry felt no need to move, or breathe, or worry. It was like arms were wrapped around him, providing warmth. The water was warm- pleasantly so. Harry relaxed, and floated, and floated...

When Harry awoke, all the other boys had left the dorm already. He didn't want to leave the bed, too comfortable to move in a way he had never felt before. He didn't actually know what time it was, and the window, which looked out into the lake, showed dark waters with no indication of time.

Harry rolled over, and buried his face into his pillow. He let himself relax, feeling the muscles in his shoulders protest as he melted into the sheets, inhaling the scent of home. Hogwarts. Although it had a distinctly different smell, here in the dungeons, the underlying thrum of magic was the same even all these years ago, and Harry let himself be smothered in it.

When he did stand up at last, Harry stretched comfortably, and glanced at the mirror. He felt, momentarily, surprised at his much healthier appearance, before he remembered the events of the previous day. He sighed a breath of relief that they hadn't thought to mess with him.

He approached the window, confident in the knowledge that his roommates had classes until at least some time. He raised a hand to the glass, and traced it calmly, letting his mind wander.

He would have to kill Tom Riddle, he knew. As soon as he did so, he realised, he should stop existing- but that was alright with him. His life, and Voldemort's, for hundreds if not thousands of others was a sacrifice he was willing to make. For the greater good, he thought.

Dumbledore would have been proud of him.

Harry had gotten dressed and left the Slytherin common rooms later that midday, wandering around the dungeons to orient himself with them. Once he was fairly sure where everything was, he ascended the stairs to the rest of the castle. The entire place looked deserted; most students were in class or in the library. Harry wandered along the corridors, not looking for anything in particular, just reorienting himself with his home. Hogwarts seemed willing to indulge him, moving staircases toward him and leaving classrooms in their usual places.

Then, after a few hours of wandering, he reached the third floor corridor. Harry let out a shaky sigh as he spotted the door behind which Fluffy had guarded the Philosopher's Stone, and the trials he had gone through in an effort to stop Quirrelmort. That seemed like centuries ago, now. He'd gladly do it all again instead of the war.

Harry silently opened the door, as it wasn't locked in this time. The room inside was empty, an old carpet covering the floor. Harry went inside and closed the door behind him. He moved to the middle of the room, and sat down, thinking of his first year. The Mirror of Erised, Hagrid, his first Christmas gifts, the invisibility cloak, the troll, Hermione…

Merlin, he'd not thought of his friends for quite some time. Harry pursed his lips, guilt filling him. He'd not told them where he was going. He'd left them once he got the idea, and they hadn't sought him out during his research. Harry clutched at his heart, which filled with phantom pain. Did guilt always hurt like this?

Harry curled up in a ball, burying his face into his knees, and let his homesickness overtake him, tears spilling onto his clothes. Nobody was here to see him be weak, after all. He'd have to be strong once he left, but for now, he could let it all out.

Harry quickly composed himself before he went to lunch, wiping his face crudely with his sleeves. He left the room and joined the students, blending in seamlessly with the others. It was odd, he thought, not to be the talk of the school at all times. He wasn't famous, here. He was just a stranger.

"Potter," Riddle's voice called softly through the crowd, and Harry ignored him and kept moving. Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. "Sorry," Riddle apologised, letting his arm go when Harry turned to face him with a deadly glare. "I just wanted to ask how you were settling in." He inspected Harry's face, and his brow creased slightly in a frown. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Harry replied coldly. "I'm just looking around the castle."

"You don't look fine," Riddle pointed out. "Has something upset you?" Harry bristled.

"I'm perfectly well, thank you. It's none of your business."

"If someone's bothering you," Riddle pointed out calmly, "I have to deal with it. It is my business." The bastard had the audacity to sound sincere. Harry stepped back, glare intensifying.

"Nobody's bothering me. Shouldn't you be on duty? It's lunch, after all."

"My duty is to take care of the students," Riddle said patiently. "That includes you."

Harry shrugged and moved away. "Whatever," he said. "I'm going to eat lunch."

"Can you find your way?" Riddle asked. Harry nodded curtly and joined the flow of students once more, leaving Riddle behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -claps-
> 
> FLOW -claps- ER -claps- SYM -claps- BO -claps- LYSM
> 
> -claps again-

The next few weeks were uneventful. Harry was taken to Diagon Alley to get a wand, and he'd frowned at it- it wasn't his holly and phoenix feather wand. He hadn't bothered to remember the components, but the wood was dark and heavy. It felt more substantial in his palm, but his magic didn't quite line up with it in the way that it had with the holly wand. He'd also been given permission to attend classes, and did so gladly, almost bored out of his mind. Attendance was optional, though, and Harry did spend most History of Magic lessons in the library, curled up with a book in the place he normally occupied with Ron and Hermione.

His potion regimen hadn't gotten any less strict, but he was used to it, now, and he noticed the effects the extra nutrition had on his body. He felt more well-rested as they days went on, and more energized, the exhaustion leaving his body slowly but surely. He felt like a whole new person, able to concentrate better on his work, and no longer out of breath after going up a flight of stairs.

He was, one of these days in late november, curled up once more in his favourite spot in the library with a miscellaneous book, when Riddle sat down across from him, giving him a polite nod and smile when Harry looked up curiously. Harry's mood immediately darkened, but he made an effort not to show it on his face, unwilling to betray his blatant dislike toward Riddle quite yet.

"Hello," Riddle said softly, paging through a book of his own with nimble fingers. "I haven't seen you around much lately."

Harry gave no reply, pulling the book higher in front of his face. This didn't deter Riddle, though.

"How have you been?" Riddle asked. "No troubles with the other students?"

Harry breathed in slowly before giving an answer. "I've been well." He expressly didn't give interest to Riddle's wellbeing- but the boy didn't seem bothered by it.

"Good to hear," Riddle said, smiling at him. If Harry didn't know what he'd become, he'd have thought it sincere. "Are you enjoying classes? You appear to be a fast learner."

Harry nodded stiffly, and Riddle's smile widened a little, his eyes crinkling gently, before it relaxed into a calm curve of the lips. Harry turned the page of his book, no longer reading- not really having been reading in the first place. They sat there in silence- Riddle relaxed, with a slight smile on his face, and Harry tense, eyes glaring daggers into the book, which had decided at that moment to become practically illegible.

Not long after, lunch started, and Riddle left with a 'see you later', leaving his book closed on the table. Harry ignored the book, and tried to focus on his own, before giving up and also leaving, heading down to the kitchens.

When someone had asked, once, how he knew where it was, he'd told them a house elf had told him. They seemed to accept that. He liked the kitchens because they were quiet- the elves worked, mostly, in silence, and there were no other students, most of the time. Harry preferred the kitchens for his meals to the Great Hall, also because there was a distinct lack of Tom Riddle in them at all times.

Maybe there would be a time where one of the Ravenclaw students he'd seen going down for snacks would tell the Head Boy, Harry mused, but it appeared nobody had so far, and that was fine with him.

The elves stayed out of his way, mostly. They came to him when he called for them, and he was polite to them- they certainly weren't as fanatic on the self-punishment as house elves in the manors he'd visited, and that was a relief on Harry's part. He asked, politely, for some treacle tart, and was given three slices, all three wrapped tightly in baking paper, grease colouring it transparent.

Harry left the kitchens soon after and returned to the Slytherin common room, getting inside without much issue. He sat down at a lonely-looking table and put down his three slices of treacle tart carefully, before picking up one of them and unwrapping it, biting down on the soft pastry. He relaxed as the taste of it washed over his tongue, erasing any unpleasant aftertaste of his morning nutrition potion.

He hadn't noticed Riddle sitting down across from him, again.

"I don't think the nurse'd approve of your treacle tart diet," Riddle said, a smirk gracing his mouth. "I won't tell her, of course, but you do need to take care of yourself, Mr Potter." Harry ignored him, simply focusing on eating his treacle.

"What's it to you?" Harry said grumpily once he'd finished the first slice, licking the sweetness of it off his fingers with no regard for manners. Riddle watched him, looking amused.

"Nothing in particular- just looking out for a student." Riddle shrugged, and it looked so odd on him, so _human_ , that Harry stopped unwrapping his second slice for a moment, simply looking at Riddle.

"It just seems like bothering me, to me," Harry said, too shocked to sound the appropriate amount of scathing he'd meant. Riddle smiled.

"Maybe I am."

"What do you want?" Harry said, slightly fed up already. "Are you trying to make friends with me, or something?"

Riddle smiled broader and shrugged again, and Harry couldn't help but notice how his eyes brightened with the action. "Yes," he said, "If you'll have me."

Harry blinked, then resumed unwrapping his treacle tart, and shrugged. When he glanced up, Riddle looked pleased, his smile so wide it was blinding. He shook his head incredulously, but Riddle had already taken his shrug as a yes by that point, Harry found out later.

After Defense Against the Dark Arts, Riddle had approached him with a broad smile and dragged him to the library, where they had sat in awkward silence until dinner, while Riddle attempted conversation and Harry attempted to make him stop attempting conversation. Then it had been time for dinner, and Riddle had stood, grabbed his hand, and Harry, utterly flabbergasted that another boy would dare hold his hand in public, hadn't realised they had gone to the Great Hall until Riddle had pulled him down to sit down next to him with a broad smile on his face.

"What are you-?" Harry attempted to protest, but sat down when the people around him gave him weird looks.

"I can't, on my good conscience, allow your diet to consist of treacle tart alone- and I know that letting you go to the kitchens for dinner won't change that, so I decided to make you eat here, simply so I can force you to be healthier." Riddle sounded supremely happy with himself. Harry scowled.

"What does it matter to you?" he growled out, stabbing into some potatoes which Riddle had served to him agressively. Riddle didn't seem bothered.

"Why, I'm your friend, of course it matters to me," he said, as if that had been a fact of life for years instead of him having singularly decided such only a few hours ago. Harry stuffed the contents speared on his fork into his mouth, and then regretted it immediately, burning his tongue. He fought to hold back the reflex which wanted him to empty his mouth back onto his plate, and simply tried to breathe deeply around the scalding food. Riddle watched, looking half-concerned, half-amused. "You should blow on it before you eat it," he suggested uselessly, and Harry glared at him from the corner of his eyes. The bastard laughed.

When dinner ended, Riddle suggested going back up to the library, but Harry shook his head. "I'm going to rest," he said, and headed back to the Slytherin common room. Riddle had nodded and they'd gone their separate ways.

That wasn't the end of it, though. Every meal, Riddle would find him, no matter where he was, and would drag him down to the Great Hall with a smile on his handsome face. Harry never bothered with Riddle's other friends, and Riddle never forced him to. Rosier was kind to him, and ensured Malfoy and Avery stayed off his back, but they weren't close. Not like Harry and Riddle were, even as he struggled to admit it.

In January, Harry had been overcome by homesickness again, and he'd curled up in the Room of Requirement. When the time for lunch came, Tom had found him, and instead of dragging him down to eat as he had the previous weeks, had gone to his knees beside Harry, and wrapped his arms around him in embrace. They'd stayed there for an eternity, and when Harry had stopped crying, he found he'd pressed his head into the crook of Tom's neck.

"Feeling better?" Tom asked, his fingers carding softly through Harry's hair, working out the tangles gently. Harry nodded wetly, but didn't move, comfortable in his position. He was grateful Tom hadn't asked why he was crying. Harry breathed in deeply, shakily, and felt comforted by the scent of him, wrapping around Harry like a blanket. Fresh and sweet with a musky undertone, like orchids and pine.

"Yeah," Harry croaked unnecessarily. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it"," Tom hummed. "Everyone has these moments sometimes- it's just better to go through them with someone who's there for you."

Harry nodded again, then slowly pushed away, lifting his sleeve to wipe his face. Before he could do so, however, Tom pushed a handkerchief into his hand. Harry looked at it, seeing the initials embroidered with a fine hand in the corner in emerald green. _T. M. R._ Harry wiped his face carefully with the smooth linen, and when he was done, offered it back to Tom. Tom shook his head.

"Keep it," he said, "You might need it again." A smile was starting to spread across his face again. Harry was still amazed at how much the other boy smiled, but Tom never seemed to stop smiling around him. Harry nodded and folded the handkerchief carefully, putting it in his pocket for safekeeping.

"Thank you," he said.

"Any time," Tom replied.

After that, Tom was always near- sitting next to him in classes, if Harry chose to go, and near in the library, whenever Harry found himself craving books to read. Oftentimes while walking their shoulders would brush, reminding Harry of Tom's not unwelcome proximity. When Tom laughed, he would sway toward Harry, almost stumbling into him at times. Harry found he rarely minded, already used to it.

Tom was very amandant on asking, or at least making sure Harry knew that physical contact was going to be initiated, after the boy had settled a hand on Harry's shoulder unexpectedly and Harry had jumped three feet into the air with fright. The sight of him so startled had turned Tom's expression unreadable, and immediately after, the asking started. Harry couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed at the constant making sure, since the change was rather welcome from his old years where people would grab at him as if he were a commodity. His expression soured.

Tom, of course, immediately took notice.

"Are you alright, Harry?" he said softly, stepping slightly closer and lowering his voice. Harry steeled himself and nodded, and Tom returned the gesture, dropping the subject.

Tom held out his hand in the space between them, as little as there was, and Harry took the invitation, laying his own in Tom's hand, before looking up and watching the boy's face. _Well, man, now_ , Harry thought. Tom was smiling, his eyes crinkled in a way that was indicative of him often smiling. Harry was still confused as to why he _smiled_ so much, for being what would later become Voldemort.

Harry sighed and packed up his stuff, cringing as he looked at the clock in the library. Tom had gone earlier to patrol the halls, reminding him softly to get back before curfew, and Harry had nodded and hummed to show he heard him, but then he'd completely lost track of time; it was almost an hour past curfew. It was a wonder the librarian hadn't kicked him out yet, but he saw that she was dozing off too. He stuffed the rest of his things inside in a rush when she stirred and was out the door before she'd fully awoken. Harry made his way quickly toward the Slytherin common room and spoke the password, _amaranth_ , and waited for the wall to open...

But it didn't.

Nervously, Harry tried again. Nobody was out here, but he didn't want to risk being caught. Still, nothing. Harry turned in a rush when he heard the voice of the caretaker, and rushed out of the area before the man could turn the corner. He ran for a while, making his footsteps as light as possible, before, while looking back, he ran straight into a solid, warm chest.

Harry's breath was knocked out of him, and by the surprised sound that escaped the person he'd ran into, the same happened to them.

"What are you-" the person started, but cut himself off. "Wait. Harry?" It was Tom- but at this point, Harry should have expected that. "What are you doing here? It's over an hour past curfew."

"Sorry," Harry heaved, trying to catch his breath. He moved backward a bit and bent over, putting his hands on his knees. "I forgot the password to the dorms and the caretaker's patrolling there," he said, tilting his head to glance up at Tom.

Tom looked contemplative. "The password is _carnation_. But if he's patrolling, he probably heard you. You shouldn't go back if you don't want to get caught." Harry gave him a dry smile, for he was stating the obvious, and righted himself. "If you want," Tom offered, "you can sleep in my dorms- they're not far from here. I won't be back for some time, so just get some rest, or something."

Harry blinked. "Is that allowed?"

Tom shrugged, and Merlin, if that didn't make him look human. "Probably not," Tom said, "but we're both boys, so there's no harm in it, and it's certainly better than a week of detention with Slughorn."

"Oh," Harry replied, "alright."

Tom held out his hand, as he so often did, and Harry took it, unable to stop himself returning Tom's blinding smile. They walked hand in hand for a few corridors, before Tom stopped and whispered a password to a door, which clicked open, revealing a comfortable living space clad in warm colours and with soft-looking carpeting covering the floor.

"Feel free to use the bed," Tom said, and Harry nodded. "I'll be gone for another few hours."

Then he turned and left Harry in the room. Harry, curious, explored it, finding nothing really personal there except for a locked trunk, and Harry certainly wasn't idiotic enough to try and look through Tom's things when even opening the lock could and would definitely be traced back to him. Harry instead sat on the bed, relishing in the softness of the sheets, wondering if Tom had found a charm to make them like that.

Before he could think better of it, Harry lay down, burying his head in the pillows, only toeing off his shoes as an afterthought. The bed smelled like him- a vague hint of cologne, his soap, maybe, and the musk that was just very, very _Tom_. Harry curled his hands under the pillow, letting out a breath, and pulled it closer, curling up in the middle of the bed, falling asleep embarrassingly quickly.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, blearily, to find Tom looking at him from where he was lying on the bed, facing Harry. His eyes looked dark in the low morning light, which streamed through windows Harry hadn't paid attention to before. Harry stayed still, letting his breath come and go slowly, watching Tom carefully, similarly to how Tom watched him.

Tom's eyelashes were long, Harry noted absently. Longer than most people's. And thick, and dark, and overall, quite pretty. Tom blinked, and a stray eyelash landed on the bridge of his nose. Slowly, deliberately, Harry reached out and pressed his finger on top of it, picking up the eyelash. Tom let him without a word, without a movement.

Harry smiled at the dark, short hair on his fingertip, and glanced back at Tom, who was still watching him.

"Make a wish," Harry said.

Tom closed his eyes, then blew, and in a rush of air, the hair was gone, to some obscure other place. Harry tried to follow its path, but his eyes met Tom's and stayed there, and he found new things, other things he hadn't noticed before. Tom's eyes had little flecks of red and gold in them if the light hit them just right, like an opal. His cheeks were flushed slightly, pinches of red on his skin, and the light made it all _magical_.

Harry felt his heart beat loudly all of a sudden, but ignored it in favour of simply staying and looking.

"Sorry for not waking you," Tom said, but his expression was calm, at ease, not at all anxious or apologetic. "You looked comfortable."

Harry laughed. "I _am_ comfortable," he said. "Do you use charms, or something?"

Tom smiled, dimples appearing in his cheeks. The laugh lines around his eyes reappeared. "None except for my personality," he said, a lazy grin threatening to shine through.

Harry snorted, wondering when he'd become so comfortable with Tom near. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, blinking when he realised he was still clothed. "Yes, you _are_ rather charming," he mused, eyeing Tom from the corner of his eyes. Tom rolled over onto his back and settled his arms behind his head, staring up at the canopy of his bed. "My own little Prince Charming..." Harry hummed.

"I'm taller than you," Tom pointed out, and Harry's smile widened.

"Careful, _Tom_ , or your ego'll get so big it won't fit through the door."

"Whose fault is that?" Tom laughed. "Calling me _Prince Charming_ , of all things."

"Are you not, then?" Harry teased. Tom shook his head. "Oh, who are you, then?"

At that, Tom fell silent, and the atmosphere turned heavy. A few, long minutes later, Tom cleared his throat.

"Just Tom, I think."

From then on, Tom's rooms were open to Harry. Tom even told him the password, which was some odd latin term - _corcillum_ \- and invited him to just enter at any time, even when Tom wasn't there. Their library sessions were moved to Tom's rooms, as well, and it was all alright, but Harry didn't feel comfortable falling asleep there again, confronted by the sudden realisation after that morning that Tom was still Voldemort- was still going to _become_ him.

It was a weight on his shoulders that wasn't going to go away.

One night while lying in bed, Harry felt under his pillow, and his hand stumbled upon a crystal- an amethyst, which shimmered dully with enchantments, the inside of it twirling like a liquid. He felt a smile creep over his face, but it was a melancholy one.

_ It was December, and everyone was gone, save for him, Tom, and some other students who kept mostly to themselves. Tom had pulled him to the courtyard, where a crisp layer of snow covered the grass, and put the hand that wasn't holding Harry's in his pocket, rummaging about, clearly looking for something. His cheeks were flushed with the cold, his eyes bright and wide, his smile threatening to split his face with how much he was smiling. _

_ Harry had grumbled about the cold, but Tom had erased all his complaints with a warming charm and a smile so bright it was blinding, before continuing his search in his pocket. _

_"How much do you have in there?" Harry laughed, when Tom huffed and switched to search in his other pocket. "Are you going to propose to me, or something?" The idea was hilarious, and Harry laughed again at Tom's frazzled expression._

_"It's just very small," Tom grumbled, before he seemed to find it and brought his hand back out, folded to obscure what lay inside. Harry eyed the hand with apprehension._

_ "That'd better not be a ring," he warned, and gave an indignant scoff when Tom rolled his eyes, ignoring how  _ odd _ it was to see him do that. "What?" he asked. "It's a valid concern, you twit." _

_ "If I were going to propose to you, I would do it in front of the entire school to show them how much I loved you, and to warn any potential opposition off, not here, in the cold. Besides, who proposes on  _ Christmas morning? _ This is a present, Harry." _

_ Harry dutifully ignored the warm feeling he got at Tom's fond tone, and waited expectantly for Tom to show him the present. Tom opened his hand at last, and Harry leaned forward to see it better. In it lay a tiny violet crystal, which glittered in the white light of the snow. Inside of it swirled an opaque mist, looking very pretty indeed. _

_ "What is it?" Harry asked, looking up at Tom, who he noticed was looking more flushed than before. _

_ "It's a sleep crystal made from Amethyst," Tom explained, not meeting his eyes, his blush increasing. "It captures bad dreams and helps you get to sleep easier when put under your pillow." He thrust his hand forward, toward Harry, and Harry picked the little crystal up, admiring it in the light. He could feel the power pulse against his fingers, familiar. _

_ "Where did you get this?" Harry asked Tom, who, at last, was meeting his eyes again. Tom smiled. _

_ "I made it," he admitted, looking at the crystal Harry held up. Harry blinked, impressed. Then he remembered something. _

_ "I haven't got anything for you," Harry said, frowning. "I forgot." _

_ Tom looked at him, and it looked like he was about to suggest something, and the look in his eyes made Harry's blood rush in his ears, his stomach tightening not unpleasantly, but then Tom halted, thought, and smiled. _

_ "Your friendship is enough for me," he said, and Harry had the distinct feeling he was leaving something out, but smiled gratefully either way. _

Harry smiled as he remembered, and pressed the crystal close to his chest, closing his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Harry," Tom crooned into the emptiness of his room, "may I have a kiss?"_
> 
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	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as we approach the end of act 1, everything begins to fall into place...
> 
> blood/murder warning for the end.

They were, once again, in Tom's rooms, and Harry was sitting on the couch, staring into the fire while Tom dozed on the bed. Harry's mind was mostly blank, racing from subject to subject too fast, too absently for Harry to start thinking explicitly of one thing. He glanced over to Tom's sleeping form, eyes hooded.

It was odd to see the ease with which Tom allowed himself to completely relax around him, Harry thought, resting his chin on his hand while he looked at him, breathing slowly. Tom's eyes were closed, his face free of all expression, his chest rising and falling slowly, in the way that sleep typically did. Harry relaxed, too, and shifted so he was leaning on the back of the couch, resting his chin on his folded arms while he watched Tom sleep.

One would have thought it creepy, but Tom returned the favour so often Harry barely thought it mattered. He shifted slightly, getting comfortable, and let his own eyes fall shut, letting the crackle of the fire behind him lull him into his own comfortable haze. They had a little while to go until dinner, after all.

"Harry," Tom whispered close to his ear. Harry sighed, unwilling to move in his utter comfort. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and took in the sight of Tom, whose dark eyes were looking warmly into his own, a small smile on the other boy's face. Their faces were inches apart, and Tom was copying his own pose, his chin resting on his forearms.

"Hmm," Harry hummed, letting his own eyes slip shut again. "What's goin' on?" his voice was thick with sleep, but he didn't bother moving, far too comfortable in his own warm haze. Tom chuckled.

"It's dinner time," he said softly, his face bright with mirth. "As much as I adore the sight of you sitting here, looking very pretty indeed, I am prepared to give up my own superficial wants for your continued health." Tom moved back, and Harry squinted up at him, pretending to be annoyed.

"Can't I just say here?" Harry grumbled. "I don't want to move, I'm too comfortable."

Tom smirked at him. "I don't think so. Up you get."

Harry groaned dramatically and made a show of not moving very much at all. "No, sorry," he said, blinking innocently up at Tom, "I can't. See?" He shook his leg a little. "I can't move at all."

Tom laughed. "Do you want me to carry you down? Merlin knows I can."

Harry pursed his lips petulantly, unwilling to face the fact that his cheeks were turning rather red. "Fine," he said, "I'll get up. Don't you dare carry me."

Tom laughed again and conceded, raising his arms harmlessly. "Very well."

They exited the room together, hands finding each other on instinct, and walked down hand in hand.

Dinner wasn't anything new- Tom picked out a few things he thought Harry should eat that day, and Harry let him. They ate in relative silence, unminding of the people chattering around them, stuck in their own little bubble. Afterward, they went back up, hands still joined, and back to Tom's rooms. Harry sat down on the couch once more, but contrary to his expectations, Tom didn't join him immediately, instead moving to an old cupboard.

Harry turned to look, curious. Tom simply rummaged around in it, before pulling out an old guitar, of all things. Harry looked at him weirdly, and Tom just shrugged.

"You play?" Harry asked. Tom nodded, and lifted the guitar into his arms, plucking at the strings a little.

"It's off-tune," he grumbled, but Harry couldn't hear it. Tom started a simple tune, not bothering to tune the thing- apparently it wasn't that bad.

A few strums later, Tom began humming along, correcting a few notes here and there.

Tom stopped his ministrations for a moment and walked over to Harry, sitting down at his feet. He lifted the guitar back into his lap and resumed playing his little tune. He stopped again,

and leaned his head back against Harry's knee, looking up at him.

"What should I play?" he asked.

Harry looked at him oddly. "Do you really expect me to know anything?"

Tom smiled. "Not really, but it was worth a try. Hmm..." he looked back at his guitar, and resumed playing the tune from before. "I'll make something up, then."

He began to sing, his voice a lovely baritone, and Harry closed his eyes, leaning back against the couch.

"S _pend my evenings down the riverside_ ," Tom sang softly, " _my favourite place when you're not here..._ "

Harry went boneless, sinking into the couch, letting the sounds wash over him. He could feel the vibrations of Tom's voice through his leg.

" _Awaiting dusk, to throw a tinted smile; for every nightfall brings you near..._ "

Harry smiled. Every nightfall, huh? Well, Tom wasn't wrong- they did spend almost every evening together, until Tom had to go on duty.

Tom tilted his head up and smiled up at Harry, continuing. " _I long to..._ "

Harry let out a long breath, leaning over slightly to lace his fingers into Tom's hair, tugging them slightly through the soft strands. Tom's eyes closed in return, and he leaned back into the touch.

" _Give all I hold, for you, and twirl inside; come closer and caress your soul..._ "

A small shiver ran through Harry at the mention of souls, and the horcruxes flashed through his mind. Harry tightened his fingers slightly, but Tom didn't seem to mind. Before Harry could do something rash, he continued to comb through Tom's hair, letting the texture of the silky locks distract him.

" _So come and find me down the waterline_ ," Tom continued after a moment, " _we'll stroll a bit and then go home_." His voice faded into silence, even as his fingers kept moving, producing lovely sounds from the guitar. After a while, Harry felt himself slipping off, and he fell asleep before Tom had stopped playing, if he ever did.

They were sitting down - again - in the library, this time, Tom having gotten into a studying craze recently with the upcoming N.E.W.T.s, even though they were still months off. This was why, Harry thought, Tom was going easy still- even though his definition of 'easy' certainly did not align with Harry's.

Harry was looking through some miscellaneous books, uncaring for the exams since his education wasn't _necessary_ , per se, and he looked up at Tom, bored. Tom was inspecting his arithmancy texts, but his relaxed expression gave away that he didn't have an issue remembering what was in it. Still, Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Tom," he said.

Tom ignored him, focusing on his book. Harry pursed his lips.

" _Tooom_ ," he repeated. "Take a break, I think your head's going to explode."

Tom looked up at him, narrowed his eyes back at him, and then continued studying.

"Come on," Harry whined. "Twenty minutes. You won't fail the exam with twenty minutes less of studying."

Tom closed the book with a dull thump and placed his forearms over it, looking at Harry, unimpressed. "I won't fail the exams," he said, "I know that. I would just like to make sure that I get all-Os in every subject."

Harry eyed him suspiciously. "I have no idea how looking at letters that long doesn't give you a massive headache."

Tom smirked. "I've done this for too long to feel it anymore, Harry."

Harry gaped. "That's _not a good thing,_ Tom."

Tom's smirk cracked into a full-blown grin, showing his teeth playfully. "I know." He shoved the book aside and leaned forward. "Alright, a break, then. What will you do after we graduate?"

Harry pouted. "That's not a break topic."

"Too bad, buttercup." Harry blushed at the name. "Indulge me, Harry. I'm curious, and as my friend, you are legally obligated to satisfy my curiosities."

"I hate you," Harry grumbled.

"That's not an answer," Tom said patiently, smiling innocently, the bloody bastard. Harry crossed his arms and raised his chin defiantly.

"I have no idea," he said haughtily. "There, you have your answer. Now stop talking about school."

Tom eyed him curiously. "Nothing? No interests?"

Harry laughed. "With my grades? Assuredly not."

Tom fell silent at that, seemingly thinking. Harry looked around, trying to find something, anything to talk about. He failed miserably.

"I suppose," Tom began slowly after a few minutes of silence, "That you could accompany me, after graduation." He looked at Harry, eyes searching his face, almost hesitant. "If you want to, of course," he added.

Harry hesitated just the same, chewing on his lip anxiously. Surely he didn't mean that Harry would join his... _organization_?

"What will you be doing, then?" he asked slowly, careful about his wording. Tom shrugged.

"Travel, mostly. I plan to traverse the world in pursuit of knowledge. It'd be nice to have a companion."

Harry laughed, tension forgotten. "That's such a _you_ thing to say. 'In pursuit of knowledge'. How old are you, seventy?"

Tom sniffed. "Eighteen, now."

Harry took a few mental steps back. "Oh, yeah, you are. Did you ever inform me it was your birthday?" He cast an accusing look at Tom.

Tom pulled a face. "I don't celebrate."

Harry pouted. "Why not? My... my parents never allowed me to celebrate it, but I always did regardless. Isn't it a day to be, you know, _h_ _appy_?"

Tom regarded him with curious eyes. Harry raised a brow.

"I suppose," Tom drawled. "Well, then. My birthday was on the thirty-first of December."

Harry beamed. "Happy belated birthday, then."

Tom gave him a look so dry Harry was amazed his face didn't shrivel.

"I should get you a gift," Harry mused after a few moments of silence. "What kind of things do you like?"

Tom snorted. "Are you trying to make _small talk_ with me?"

"I would never," Harry said, feigning offense. "Maybe I could get you a tuner," he said after a while. "You play guitar, after all. A magical tuner."

Tom eyed him curiously. "How would you obtain it?"

Ah, right. Harry pulled a face. _Money_. "I could transfigure it, probably. If I had a reference."

Tom smiled, clearly thinking him silly. "Where would you obtain the reference?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak of the Room of Hidden Things, but closed it. He pursed his lips. "I don't know," he said at last. "You're not making this easy for me," he accused, sending

Tom a heatless glare. Tom smiled wider and shrugged.

Harry lifted his hands to his cheeks, slapping them lightly as if to force an idea into his head. "Oh, I know!" he said. "We should go flying together."

Tom's eyes widened, then narrowed. " _No_."

"Come _on_ ," Harry whined, tugging at Tom's sleeve. "Why not?"

"It's _dangerous_ ," said Tom decisively. "Do you even _know_ how to fly?"

Harry pouted. "It can't be _that_ hard," he said, not missing a beat. Tom gave him a suspicious look. "Do you have a fear of heights, or something?"

Tom sniffed. "I don't trust anything designed to float a solid fifty feet above the ground or more. Who am I to know if the enchantments fail, and I go plummeting down to the earth? If I ever fly, it will be unassisted, not dependent on someone else's flimsy rune-work."

Harry was silent, processing this, then groaned. "Spoilsport," he said at last. "Fine. Any suggestions?"

Tom turned to face him fully, the curious look in his eyes that had also been there at Christmas back, lighting them with a heat Harry couldn't decipher. Harry swallowed, nervous, and inched back slightly. As if a spell had broken, Tom's face twitched and the look disappeared. Harry wet his lips.

"Nothing?" he said after a minute or so.

Tom shifted his eyes away and opened his book again, shrugging. "What can I say;" he said softly, "I've never really received presents, especially for my birthday. Come on," he said, flicking the pages, "Let's get back to work."

And so it continued; the cycle of eating, classes, studying and then sleeping. More often than not, Harry found himself distracted, mind wandering to Tom's imminent death by his hand.

He'd have to kill him, of course- it couldn't be any other way. Hopefully, his parents would grow up to care for and love the version of him born in a world without Voldemort- then again, maybe he wouldn't even be born. So many things would change, Harry thought, saddened. But for the better- so many deaths could be avoided.

Tom noticed, like he did, whenever Harry spiraled into his thoughts, and nearly always effectively brought him out of it; the times he couldn't, he was there to comfort Harry while he cried. If anything, it made it worse that Tom would offer him comfort, ignorant of what was going through Harry's head. _Not knowing_ of his own death.

March came and went, then April, and then N.E.W.T.s were around the corner, starting early June. Harry studied alongside Tom- he'd opted to try and take the examinations, despite his gaps in knowledge, just to take his mind off things. It worked, mostly, as Tom often demanded Harry asked him to define terms and outline theories- in the process, Harry learned a lot, too- enough to give him a feeling that he'd pass with at least an E in Defense.

N.E.W.T.s were suddenly upon them, and it all passed in a fever dream. Harry knew he'd done pants in history of magic and astronomy the second he came out of their respective exams, but he didn't bemoan it, instead working with Tom for the subjects they had yet to do. And then it was... over.

Harry blinked when everyone filed out of the transfiguration N.E.W.T. alongside him and realised _that was the last one._ Cheers and sighs of relief and despair filled the hallway, and

Harry found Tom without a word, standing close to him as his mind flicked over everything, going too fast to really think at all.

"Weird," Harry mumbled. "It's over, now."

"Yes," Tom breathed. "It is, isn't it? No more classes, no more homework. No more exams. We just wait for the results and then go wherever we want."

Harry smiled wide, wistful, leaning against Tom slightly. The warmth of his body was comforting, even in the lingering heat of the early summer. It had been odd, Harry thought, to see people going around, unbothered by the war, untouched by Voldemort's cruelty. It was a welcome sight as much as it was maddening. Nobody was shaking because of the realisation that they'd have to leave Hogwarts's fortified walls and walk into the clutches of a Dark Lord's reign, nobody was _already missing._ Nobody had to cover their lower arms with long sleeves even in the hot summer to hide the Dark Mark, nobody would be forced into twisted servitude by the man-

Harry had to preserve this, he realised, his head clearing, focusing on the thought. He had to make sure Voldemort would never happen.

"So," Tom said, breaking the silence between them tentatively, "have you given my offer any thought? Would you," he hesitated, eyes flicking off to the side, "like to accompany me on my travels?"

Making up his mind, Harry turned to face Tom, expression serious.

"Yes," he said firmly, and Tom beamed.

There was a week of saying goodbye to everyone before the official graduation ceremony that Tom and Harry spent together being lazy in Tom's rooms. Sometimes Tom would play the song he'd played before, but oftentimes they'd sit and plan where to go. Tom had an entire route planned out across the world, and he invited Harry to make adjustments for wherever he wished to go. Harry blinked when he realised the United States was one of the places Tom wanted to visit, and he couldn't help but laugh, an image forming in his mind of Tom living the _American dream_.

The route was extensive- there were many, _many_ places Tom had circled on his map, and little golden thread lines connected them all like tiny rays of light. Harry had known of Albania, so he wasn't surprised to see that, but he was amazed to see Egypt, Brazil, Japan and others.

However, out of all of this, Harry was the most surprised to learn of a... house.

Tom had bought a house in a quaint little place called Seahouses, aptly named because of its proximity to the sea. Tom had pulled up the plans for the house when Harry'd inquired where they would stay; it was a two-story cabin with an open kitchen, two bedrooms and one bathroom.

"It's the first place we'll go when we leave Hogwarts," Tom explained. "From there, we'll get settled and make sure we have everything before we leave. I'll create us both portkeys directly there in case we need to ever get back quickly." His face was tender when he looked at Harry. "I'm glad you're coming with me."

"I'm glad too," Harry said softly, giving Tom a weak smile.

Tom beamed and reached across the table to rest his hand atop Harry's for just a moment before he patted it and pulled away again, focusing on the plans once more. Harry's heart did a very odd thing in his chest and he shrugged his shoulders to rid himself of the feeling.

The house was gorgeous from where they were standing, framed by thick fog cast across golden fields- something Tom said was a common sight, so close to the sea. If Harry listened closely, he could hear the waves roaring in the distance. His wide eyes took it all in; the exterior of it, painted white and kept pristine with a wonderful looking navy blue roof. The porch was made of well-maintained dark brown wood, creeping vines of ivy already making their way up the columns and little marigolds framing the house in neatly trimmed flowerbeds. It was stunning.

"Shall we go inside?" Tom said, holding out his hand to Harry as he'd done so many times before, and Harry took it without thought, allowing himself to be pulled closer to the house. Harry felt the wards pass over him, strong as they were, letting him in without a hitch, and he basked in the feeling of Tom's magic surrounding the place like a huge, comforting blanket. The door opened before Tom even touched it, swinging inward into the house and showing a rather bare, well-lit interior. There were a few objects of furniture around; a lamp, a couch, a kitchen, but most of it was space, ready to be filled.

Harry let go of Tom's hand to wander inside, eyes wide as he turned to take it all in. "How did you even afford this?" he asked, amazed.

"I called in a few favours with friends," Tom said, smiling at him from the door. Harry turned toward him, a smile on his face which bled off when he realised how _domestic_ they were being. Like a newly married couple.

"Don't tell me you bullied them into giving you a discount," Harry said, moving closer to Tom again and leaning against the wall in the open hall, mirth sparking in his eyes. "I'll have to apologize to them on your behalf."

"Nothing of the sort," Tom sniffed, barely keeping his smile off his face. "I helped them out before with their grades, they're helping me out now. It's an equal exchange; it's more stable to do it like that, anyways."

Harry's mouth quirked up and he pushed off the wall again, wandering into what he could see was the kitchen area. He ran his fingers over the smooth countertops. "What material is this?" He asked Tom. "It looks expensive."

"Black granite," Tom answered. "It's durable when sealed properly, so it lasts a long time. It's certainly a worthy investment."

Harry gave him an accusing stare. "So it was expensive."

Tom shrugged. "Only the best."

Harry hummed. "How far are we from the sea?" he asked.

"Two miles or so," Tom answered. "We can take a walk to there when we're done here, if you want." He smiled. "We could also take a shortcut- I already set the Floo up, and there's a wizarding pub in the village down near the sea that's connected. Did you know puffins live on the islands just northeast of here? It's a twenty minute boat trip or so, and the locals give tours. It's quite famous."

Harry smiled shyly. "No," he said, "I didn't know. Puffin? Like the books? The publishers?" He asked, then bit his tongue.

Tom gave him a questioning look. "I don't know any publishers called Puffin. Are they Muggle?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Yes, I think so. They're probably quite small, which would be why you've never heard of them, but I swear saw them everywhere when I was younger."

"Well," said Tom, "at least now you'll have the chance to see a puffin whenever you'd like. I'll look for them; do you have any idea where they're based?"

"No," Harry said with a small shake of his head. "Shall we look around more?"

They left the kitchen and wandered to the opposite side, into the living room, which had white walls and the same wood for the floor as the porch outside. A solitary soft blue couch sat in the middle, facing the fireplace, which, too, didn't feature any decorations yet. A small drawer stood on the side of the room next to the open space that led to the hallway. Two small blue cushions sat on the windowpane, and Harry felt giddy when he realised that the window leaned out of the house slightly so he could curl up against it with a book on the space created. He plopped down on the couch, testing the sturdiness of the springs with his hands and finding it perfectly comfortable. He let himself fall back against the backrest with a small 'oomph' and smiled lazily at Tom, who was standing there, amused.

"I could just sleep here," Harry teased. "This couch is comfortable enough."

"And let the charmed bedsheets go to waste?" Tom asked, raising an eyebrow. Harry straightened immediately, eyes widening. Tom smirked and stepped back a few steps, toward the hall where the stairs were.

"You seriously thought of everything, didn't you," Harry accused, standing up after a moment's indecision. The couch was truly quite comfortable, yes, but if Tom had charmed the bedsheets, Harry knew they'd be ten times as wonderful to sleep in.

Tom smirked. "Come on, then," he said, making his way up the stairs with a quick jog, forcing Harry to hurry to catch up with him.

When Harry reached the landing, Tom was already standing in a doorway, raised eyebrows inviting him in without a sound.

Harry raised his eyebrows in question, coming to stand next to him at the door. He looked appraisingly at the sight before him; a bed of the same size as the one back in the Slyherin common rooms stood in the middle, with gray sheets covering it and the same shade of curtains hanging neatly around the bedframe. Harry went inside the room and toward the bed, reaching down to smooth his hands over the sheets, a smile spreading across his face when the sheets were, indeed, charmed just like the ones in the Head Boy's room. Harry pulled his trunk out of his pocket, set it on the floor, and returned it to its original size.

"This is my room, then?" Harry asked. Tom nodded.

"If you want it," he replied.

Harry beamed. "It's wonderful."

"The sheets can change colour with a charm," Tom said. "Look." He touched his wand to the covers and said "Green," and the covers changed into a deep, dark green, almost black. "It adjusts the saturation to what you have in mind, too," Tom added, stepping back. "Try it."

Harry raised his eyebrows for a moment then tried it out, touching his wand to the covers while thinking of the bright red of the Gryffindor Common Room. "Red." True to Tom's word, the covers changed into the exact colour and shade Harry had in mind, and Harry directed a giddy smile at Tom."Can the pillows change colour, too?" Harry asked.

"All the fabric can," Tom shrugged, and Harry took that as the cue to turn his curtains a garish mustard yellow and his pillows a bright lime green, but not before running his hands over them in awe at how _soft_ it all was.

"Okay," Harry announced, "I'm done." He shot Tom a smirk. "I want to ruin your colour scheme too. Where do your chambers reside, O Thomas the greatest Riddle?"

"Just down the hall, Hadrian the humblest Potter," Tom hummed, leading Harry out of the room and making a grand gesture toward a rather modest looking door at the very end of the hallway.

"Are you sure you're talking about the right person?" Harry laughed, moving in front of Tom to open the door at the end of the hall with a flourish, promptly becoming jealous of the larger space it held. "Ah, of course you'd hog the master bedroom."

"You could always move in," Tom said jokingly. "There should be enough space for the both of us."  
Harry gave him a side eye. "I might just take you up on that."

Then he rushed to the green covers of the bed standing in the room and, with great delight, turned them several shades of off-pink and bright yellowish brown. Tom watched him from the doorway, looking terribly amused.

In the end, Harry settled on making them green again, but this time as close as he could get to the shade of his eyes, from what he remembered in the mirror. "Okay," he announced after some time, making his way out of the room again. "I'm done here, too." He eyed the door to the left, between his and Tom's rooms. "Is that a study?"

"And a library," Tom confirmed. "I've got to be my horrible, study-obsessed self somewhere, haven't I?"

"You could be a horrible, _social_ , study-obsessed you, though," Harry said, "at the kitchen table downstairs."

"I'll try," Tom said with mirth in his tone. "For you."

"Such a good friend I have," Harry sighed dramatically. "Bathroom?" he assumed, nodding toward the door they hadn't explored yet.

"Yes," Tom said. "Only one, so we'll have to share. Please remember to lock it when you're in the bath." He sent Harry an unimpressed look, and Harry shrugged innocently.

"I wouldn't dare forget," Harry said airily. "Is that all?"

"Unless there's a hidden torture chamber here, I would assume so," Tom said with a smile.

"It'd better be hidden well, then," Harry mumbled, averting his eyes. A sudden sadness overtook him, and Harry shook his head at Tom's worried expression. "I'll just grab something from my trunk- wait for me downstairs, will you?"

Tom nodded and Harry heard his footsteps descend the stairs as he ducked into his room and opened his trunk, allowing himself one last, long look at the bed he'd just coloured into something awful. He took out what he was looking for and held it behind his back, blinking a little quicker than he had before as he followed Tom down.

"Are you alright?" Tom asked, concern spelling across his face as Harry descended the stairs slowly. Harry nodded, ducking his chin into the collar of his turtleneck. He couldn't bring himself to meet Tom's eyes, blinking harder and harder in an attempt to keep his mind at bay. "Hey," Tom murmured, stepping closer, his arms outstretched to embrace Harry. "It'll be alright- I'm here."

Harry nodded shakily, closing his eyes. "I'm just... scared. Of what will happen." His hand clenched behind his back.

"Whatever happens," Tom murmured in a promise, "I'll be there."

"May God forgive me," Harry breathed out as Tom wrapped his arms around Harry's form, and Harry raised his hand between their bodies just as Tom embraced him tighter.

Tom reared back, confusion flashing across his face before it made way for horror.

His hand raised and clutched at his chest, where a silver knife was buried to the hilt over his heart. Eyes flickered down toward the wound and then back at Harry, who'd staggered back in the same instant, tears rising to his eyes freely now. A pulling began in Harry's navel, and Harry moved himself further back, away from Tom. Away from the man he'd just stabbed.

"What..?" Tom began to ask, eyes wide. Blood bubbled up around the wound, spreading like a stain across his shirt, and Harry shook his head, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Harry?"

He raised his hand, reaching out toward Harry, but Harry backed out of his grip, shaking his head more frantically. The tugging behind his navel got stronger and Harry let out a pained noise, clutching at his stomach. Tom staggered toward him but fell to his knees before he could reach him.

"I can't let you hurt them," Harry gasped out, and the world curled into itself. The last thing Harry saw were Tom's eyes, wide and scared.

Harry gasped awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT A DOUBLE TWIST, I PROMISE. it's not an 'oh no something terrible happened!!! oh nvm it was ALL A DREAM'  
> Harry actually!! Stabbed!! Tom!!! with the intent to kill!!!!  
> you just,,, gotta remember temporal paradoxes and all that funny stuff and you'll get it in the end  
> AS USUAL GO AND JOIN MY [DISCORD](https://discord.gg/k2zQnuV) bc i love you all and i want to talk about my shit with ya and/or stalk me on my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/itsevanffs) and scream at me there??? also an option like,,, my inbox is open luvs idk about you but i'm getting a bit lonely

**Author's Note:**

> discord: https://discord.gg/k2zQnuV
> 
> tumblr: https://its-evan-ffs.tumblr.com/
> 
> Also check out _Vespertine_ , which is starting to get written again, although the quality might suffer for a bit before i get the pace back up.


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